


Coitus Interruptus

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7304299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late enough in the night that they didn't think they'd be interrupted so soon. (Coda fic for 3x04)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coitus Interruptus

**Author's Note:**

> Look, all I'm saying is that it wasn't just Sylvie/Athos that got cockblocked at the start of 3x04. :') 
> 
> Written for the prompt on tumblr, "What was happening before those two walked out of that door re-dressing themselves"

Aramis’ nose bumps at Porthos’ jaw and he lets out a small little laugh in response. Porthos laughs, too, hands steady at his waist before shifting to undo the buttons to his coat. They’re still getting used to these new uniforms, but it’s easy enough to find a ways to undress – they’ve done so before, plenty of times, easy as breathing. Still, there are stiffer buttons to work at, new buttonholes, new ties and dips in the fabric. It’s nice to explore it, unhurried, Porthos’ hands sliding down over Aramis easily. 

Aramis settles into Porthos’ lap, straddling him as Porthos slips his hands underneath his shirt, tips his head up to kiss at the underside of Aramis’ chin, then down his neck. Aramis sighs out, draping his arms over Porthos’ shoulders and luxuriating in the attention. His hair falls in his eyes and he jerks his chin up enough to shoo it away. His chin bumps against the top of Porthos’ head and he grunts in surprise – and then they both laugh. 

“Maybe you should tie more back,” Porthos chides with a laugh, lifting a hand to push the hair from his face.

Aramis snorts and then leans into the touch to bat his eyelashes at him when he deems the snort too ugly a sound for him to make at a time like this. 

“I look pretty like this,” he tells Porthos with a sniff.

“Oh yeah,” Porthos agrees, his smile all teeth. He ducks his head, biting crescent moon shapes against his neck, hard enough to tease at bruising but light enough that there’s no danger of it. Aramis moans out, tipping his head back. 

Porthos rolls his hips up with delicate surety and Aramis groans out, louder this time. Even like this, settled back in Paris, even that is enough to make him feel young again, shaking apart from simple touches, unused to all this and begging to be _used to it_ again, begging to be used to the way Porthos holds him close. He kisses Porthos greedily, tastes pear on his tongue. A treat from earlier, the two of them eating together like old times – a smattering of pears strewn across the table at their side. He grabs at Porthos’ belt and tugs it off, kissing him deeper, licking into his mouth and dragging his teeth over his tongue. Pear is sweet and tart – Porthos is sweeter. If he were to say as much, he knows Porthos would laugh in his face. It’s a warming thought, to know he can get lost in this with no fear. 

Porthos hums out into the kiss, a low groan, hands sliding over him, tugging at his shirt to untuck it and slip a hand beneath his trousers. Aramis muffles a loud, embarrassing moan into the kiss, shuddering from that and rocking up hard into Porthos’ touch.

And then d’Artagnan is calling to Athos outside and there are thumps and distant curses. Aramis groans out, this time for a very different purpose. He tips his head back in frustration, casts a small sigh in God’s direction – truly, to test his patience at a time like this – and draws back to look at Porthos with an even longer sigh. 

Porthos, at least, seems disappointed, too. It’s a small comfort. He touches at his cheek, pets his fingers through his hair. 

“Really?” he asks. “Now?” 

Porthos laughs and shrugs. Grabs his abandoned pear and takes a loud bite from it, grinning at him. Some of the juice dribbles down his chin and Aramis leans in to lick at it, indulgently. Porthos hums out and they swap a few more lazy kisses, as if that will help the lust subside. 

“Duty calls,” Porthos tells him. He jerks his hips up against him – not to tease, but rather to encourage Aramis to get off of him. 

Aramis runs his fingers along Porthos’ cheek, smiling at him. “We’ll pick up where we left off. Later.” 

“Damn right,” Porthos says with a snort, then moves to stand up. Aramis scrambles from his lap as Porthos stoops to pick up both their sword-belts from the floor and Aramis starts tucking in his shirt again. Porthos tosses his coat at him. 

Neither d’Artagnan nor Athos really respond when they both step out from the door, Porthos eating his fruit and Aramis looking utterly disheveled, but that’s likely because Athos has his own problems. Sylvie doesn’t look at them but Aramis casts her a small smile as he and Porthos walk along with d’Artagnan, giving Athos his moment to compose himself. It’s going to be a long day.


End file.
